That And So Much More
by JoinTheHunt1981
Summary: What might have happened if Alex had fallen asleep in 1:6. Very angsty and depressing oneshot but with plenty of Galex! WARNING FOR CHARACTER DEATH. Very different from what I normally write...


**Hi everyone! This is an angsty oneshot that has been playing on my mind for a while. It explores what might have happened if Alex had given in to the clown and fallen asleep in her flat in Series 1, Episode 6. I was in two minds whether to upload it or not as it is different to my normal style and the things I write about!**

**I don't own Ashes to Ashes, any of the recognisable characters, locations or dialogue.**

**Please review and tell me what you thought! Enjoy...**

* * *

She was cold. Oh, God, she was cold.

Alex shivered and pulled her jacket tighter around her shoulders. "Molly?" she called softly into the silence. "Molly, I wanted to talk to you because..." she trailed off and took a deep breath, "because I don't think that I'm going to be able to get back to you. And, uh..." what did you say to your twelve year old daughter on such an issue, especially if you knew she couldn't really hear you? "And I wanted to say goodbye. And I'm sorry," she choked out, a sob escaping. "I'm so sorry. It's...It's ending _here_. I'm dying here. In 1981."

Alex knew she couldn't fall asleep. Keep making connections. Stay awake. She was so, so tired though. Her frustration at Gene wasn't helping either. Their argument earlier had drained her energy. She shivered again and curled herself up, trying to stay warm, urging herself to stay awake. She could feel her eyes drooping though. She was very aware of her breathing; in, out, in, out. Her breath was coming out in faint clouds. Was she cold, or was it just the room? Her eyes were heavy, so heavy. Maybe she should just give in...

_No, Alex! _She uncurled herself. Maybe if she was uncomfortable, she wouldn't feel the urge to fall asleep. She could hear her heartbeat; _thud thud, thud thud;_ feel her blood thundering through her veins.

Too hot. She suddenly felt too hot. Her blood pumped in her ears. Alex stretched out, trying to cool herself down. She shrugged off her jacket and rolled her sleeves up to just below her elbows. She kicked off her shoes and somehow managed to discard her thick, woolly socks. _Wait!_ She was shivering still? Why was she shivering if she was so hot?

_T__hud thud, thud thud._

Too many questions. Her head ached. She needed to sleep. Yes, sleep. That was a good idea. Sleep. Alex leant back on the pillows and closed her eyes and relaxed. Yes. She felt better already.

_Thud...thud, thud...thud..._

She felt her heart slowing; her breathing becoming shallower as a welcome sleep claimed her.

Alex Drake's last thoughts just before her heart gave up weren't of her daughter, as she always assumed they would be, but of a man. A man who she loved so much that it hurt, even though she knew she shouldn't; a man who had found his way inside and somehow stayed; a man who made her feel safe.

_Thud...thud...thud..._

Alex Drake's last thoughts, as the clown loomed over her and grasped her in his cold arms, weren't of her daughter. They were of Gene Hunt.

_Thu..._

_..._

* * *

"You drink alone because of love. Yeah, yeah, you can deny all you like but you're not alone. All Englishmen, in the art of seduction, are pathetic. _No passion!"_

Gene rolled his eyes, drained his glass and stood up before Luigi could draw breath again. He had to admit, as much as he had wished earlier for Alex to take a swan dive from the window, drinking without her had actually been rather lonely. Come to think of it, it was always rather lonely when Bolly wasn't about. He stumbled slightly up the stairs, trying to think up some cover story for him to spin Alex when she opened the door. He didn't want to directly ask her down for a drink. No. He might reveal too much if he did that.

"_To stop Luigi askin' me why I'm drinking on me own, will you grace us mere mortals downstairs with your delightful presence, Madame Fruitcake?"_

Yes. That was plausible. Maybe he should play up his state of drunkenness too; maybe pretend to support himself on the doorframe. Yes, that's what he would do. Giving a satisfied flicker of a smile, Gene hammered on the front door.

"Open up! Police! Open up!"

No reply. He knocked again. Still no reply.

"Bolly?" Nothing. "Drake, if you're sitting in there, ignorin' me because of what happened earlier, you can come off it right now." He pressed his ear to the door. Silence. Not even the sound of carpet-muffled footsteps. No telly or radio. No running water. Nothing. "Bols?" Silence.

He was starting to get worried now. A feeling of dread had washed over him. He went back downstairs and persuaded Luigi to hand over the spare key to Alex's flat. He hurried back up and unlocked the door, cursing as he tripped over a pair of shoes she had abandoned in the doorway.

His first thought was of how cold the place was. His second, how eerie it seemed. His third, why was there was no sign of Alex, even though he had just let himself into her flat and wasn't exactly quiet in doing so either?

"Bolly?" he called out into dark. He knew she was here. Her handbag was hung up on the coat peg. He wasn't a detective for nothing. "Bols?" He walked around, flicking a couple of lights on to make it seem warmer. She wasn't in the kitchen or the sitting room. He pushed the door to her bedroom open.

"There you are," he said, seeing her spark out on her bed. He could just about make out her profile in the orange-y light that struggled in though the blind that covered the window. "Bols?" he addressed her. She didn't stir. He walked across the room to the bed. "Wakey wakey, Drakey." She was still.

The room was too quiet. It was then he noticed she wasn't breathing. There were no soft, even breaths that come with sleeping; no rise and fall of her chest that confirmed the fact she was taking in oxygen. Gene pressed a hand to her forehead. She was stone cold. He felt for a pulse. There wasn't one.

"Shit!" he went and turned on the bedroom light so he could see her better. He noticed that her jacket was on the floor and she had rolled her sleeves up. Her socks and shoes lay abandoned on the rug. "Alex," he begged, desperately. He knelt down by the bed. He had to do something. He tried chest compressions, but in vain. Her heart just wouldn't start. It was as if it had been frozen. He tried again and again, with no success. "Alex, please," he choked out. He refused to admit that he was too late; she had been like this for too long before he arrived. "Alex!" He lightly tapped her cheek a few times. She didn't stir.

He placed a kiss on her icy cheek and stood up. He looked down at her through misty eyes. She was perfect. She was laid out on her bed, looking for all the world like she was asleep. Her lips were tinged blue and slightly parted and her skin was almost white. Her dark hair was fanned out around her head. Bizarrely, despite his state of mind, his stream of consciousness wandered to the story of Snow White, when she was laid out in her glass coffin in the woods. However, Snow White had woken up when the Prince had kissed her. Gene was no prince and he knew fairy tales weren't true. He knew no matter how hard; how passionately he kissed her she wouldn't suddenly draw breath and sit up. That hurt. She was a pale, perfect angel, frozen forever in time. _His_ pale, perfect angel.

Gene let a silent tear escape as he picked up the phone and rang the ambulance and then went and sat back with her, holding her in his arms, as if he was trying to keep her warm.

* * *

Her file talked of a daughter, a godfather and an ex husband, all of whom Alex had mentioned to him at one point or the other. Try though as he and the rest of the team might, they couldn't track any of them. Gene felt so sad that she wasn't going to have any of her family present at her funeral. They kept it small and low key. All of her closest friends were there. Shaz and Chris clung to each other for comfort as silent tears trickled down their faces. Ray was shaking throughout. Luigi muttered sadly in Italian. Gene sat, trying to keep himself together. The Chief Super spoke of a Detective Inspector Alexandra Drake, a valuable asset to the force and an influential presence who would be missed by all, both her friends and colleagues and the people whose lives she had touched whilst doing her job. To Gene, this person was a stranger. When it was his turn to speak, he spoke of a Bolly, the woman who had taught him so much and changed him. The woman he considered to be his closest friend. The woman who drove him to both laughter and distraction. The woman he would never forget. He spoke of his Bolly.

What he didn't say out loud to the gathered congregation was that Bolly was the woman who made him feel elated; who didn't make him feel so alone; the woman who could make him feel frustrated and affectionate at the same time; the woman who had taken his life, turned it upside down and shaken it up. Bolly was the woman he loved, and he didn't have the first clue on how to cope without her in the world. Secretly, he shed his fair share of tears over her death, mainly late at night when sleep evaded him and she was the only thing he could think of.

The paramedics had speculated and the post mortem concluded hypothermia. Moderate to severe hypothermia. She had probably become confused and thought she was too hot which was why she had removed her jacket and shoes and rolled up her sleeves. He had asked if she was in any pain when she died. The paramedics said it was unlikely. She must have been asleep or unconscious otherwise she would have probably begun to suffer from hide-and-die syndrome and crawled under the bed or into the wardrobe or an equally small, enclosed space before she passed on.

The guilt gnawed away at Gene's insides. He had noticed earlier in the day that she had been cold. She had been shivering, hugging herself, drinking mugs of steaming tea, trying to stay warm. If only he had done something. Given her his coat and taken her to the doctor, tucked her up in bed with the radiator blasting, and stayed with her. She would still be alive.

* * *

He struggled through the next year in a numb, lifeless daze. The passion for his job had gone. He was almost robotic when it came to policing. Whereas before he had enjoyed the thrill of the chase, the takedown, the shootouts, the adrenalin rushes, he now preferred to just arrest the bastards, interview them and charge them if they were guilty or let them go if they were innocent. He found the small pleasures in life he had enjoyed before Alex had passed away no longer mattered to him. He wouldn't go to Luigi's any more, he wouldn't go to the footie with Ray or Chris, he just went home and drowned his sorrows in whisky or wine or whatever else was at hand, or he went and sat on the sofa in her flat and tried (and sometimes failed) not to cry as he remembered the all too short amount of time he had been lucky enough to know her for. He thought about her every day, remembering her eyes, her smile, her laugh. He remembered her voice and the way it rose in frustration when they were arguing, the way it softened when they were flirting or sharing a joke. He remembered her little habits and characteristics; the way she would lean her head on her hand and smile dreamily when she had had one too many at Luigi's, the way she was constantly fiddling with a pen as she addressed the team because (and only he knew this) she hated speaking in front of large groups; the way she rolled her eyes when he shot a sexist comment at her, the way she would frown and bite her lip when she was worried or concentrating.

Then, one day, exactly one year to the day he had found her cold and dead on her bed, he found he couldn't remember her voice. He couldn't quite place the colour of her eyes or the smell of her perfume. It worried him. He panicked. It saddened him. He cried. It was like she had died all over again.

It was also that day that he received the information on a drugs drop he and the team had been waiting for for months. They were all aware of the significance of the day and all planned to raise a glass to their departed DI later, but duty called first.

None of them knew how it happened. They observed from a safe distance until the drugs and money were being exchanged. They swooped as normal. The team experienced the familiar adrenalin rush, but Gene didn't. He just ran forwards, feeling empty and wanting this horrible, horrible day to be over so he could go home and remember. No one was sure who fired first. Suddenly though, the warehouse was a storm of gunfire, bullets flew everywhere. They pinged off the walls, buried themselves in boxes and smashed windows. Five hit their targets.

The first hit Steve Jenkins, notorious crime lord.

The second hit Paul Hawkins, his right hand man.

The third and fourth both hit Joshua Farrow and Carl Jacobs, drug dealers.

The fifth hit Gene Hunt, Metropolitan police officer.

Gene felt something hit him in the chest. He looked down to see a hole and leaking from this hole, a crimson pool that was spreading all over his blue shirtfront. He dropped his gun as the feeling began to leave his body and he collapsed on the floor as his strength drained. He felt cold, so, so cold. He was aware of shouting around him, but his hearing had gone funny and the voices started to sound like they were underwater. Suddenly, Ray, Chris and Shaz appeared in his sightline. He was vaguely aware of Shaz pressing something to the hole in his chest, which had actually started to hurt quite a lot. He vaguely clocked Ray saying something like _"Call an ambulance. We can't lose him. Not on today of all days." _He saw Chris bring his radio to his lips and speak into it, but he couldn't make out what it was because his hearing had become so distorted. Gene noticed his vision was growing black around the edges and the colour seemed to be draining from everything. The background had turned grey and white and black. The colours in the foreground had taken on a faded quality, like that of an old photograph. However, one thing stood out to him. One thing was still vivid in colour.

He had thought he would never see her again. However, there she was, stood over him along with Ray and Chris and Shaz, seeming to have an unearthly glow around her, looking as alive as ever. She seemed so calm, whereas the others were so frantic. _"Bolly,"_ he croaked out, choking weakly as he felt blood rising in his throat. She offered him a soft, comforting smile. His vision was fading; everything now was black and white, but not her. He could clearly make out her vivid blue blouse, the one she had been wearing the day she died; the way the evening sunlight played on her shiny, glossy brunette hair; her rosy cheeks and red lips and greenish-hazel eyes.

"Come on," she said softly, holding her hand out to him. Gene reached up and took it. He was surprised. Where had his strength come from? What had happened to the pain in his chest? Alex pulled him to his feet and seemed to sense his confusion and turned him around, keeping a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Gene was looking at himself. He was lying on the ground, blood pouring out of the bullet wound in his chest as Shaz tried to stem it. The eyes on the version of him lying on the grubby floor flickered shut just as ambulance sirens sounded in the background.

"_No you can't, Guv!" _Shaz cried, pounding on his chest, much like he had done to Alex exactly one year previously.

"I'm dead," he stated. Alex nodded. He thought he saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Don't be," he replied. "It's not your fault."

They stood, hand in hand, watching the scene before them. They watched as the criminals, only suffering flesh wounds, were shoved into two of the three ambulances that had shown up and driven off. The paramedics rushed in and pulled sobbing Shaz away from Gene's body, taking over and trying to revive him. They both watched as they gave up and confirmed the time of death. Gene found he couldn't take any more and turned away.

"Gene?"

"I'm fine, Bols."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," he said. They walked out of the warehouse and stood, looking out over the river. He looked over at Alex and saw she was silently crying.

"Bolly, what's wrong?" he asked, wrapping an arm around her.

"It's not fair," she whispered. "You still had your life."

"So did you," he murmured. "It wasn't much of a life for me. To be honest, I was utterly miserable," he admitted, unable to look at her.

"I know you were. But why?" she said, biting her lip in the way he had missed so much.

"Does it need saying?" Alex wiped her tears away and looked at him questioningly. "Bolly, my life was utterly miserable because you weren't in it," he said softly, taking her hand.

"You'd have found someone else," she told him, turning to face him.

"No, I wouldn't have. I find that Alex Drakes tend to be one of a kind. I was never the same after that god awful evening," he said, suddenly feeing choked up. He let go of her hand and pinched the bridge of his nose.

They were both silent for a while, just gazing out across the river as the sun began its decent below the horizon.

"Gene?"

"Yeah?"

"That stuff you said at my...my funeral. Did you mean it?"

Gene turned to face her, holding her hand again.

"That and so much more," he said, conveying more meaning and emotion in his voice than he ever had done before. He saw Alex's eyes well up again. He cupped her face gently and lent in towards her. Their lips met softly in a tender, passionate kiss. It said so much that had been left unsaid when they were both alive. It made up for the gaping, painful, aching year they had spent apart.

"I've waited so long to be able to do that," Alex murmured, resting her forehead against his.

"Me too," he replied.

"I love you, Gene," Alex whispered, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her cheek against his chest.

"I love you too," he whispered back, giving her a gentle kiss on the top of her head. "I missed you so, so much."

"Mmm. Missed you too," she replied.

They stood holding each other as the sun sank and disappeared from the sky completely. A breeze blew in off the river and Gene felt Alex shiver slightly.

"Well, Bolly. What now?" he asked. She pulled back and smiled at him.

"Just because you're dead doesn't mean you have to stop living," she said mysteriously.

"What you on about, woman?" he asked, smiling slightly.

"Come on," she said, giving him a quick peck on the lips. "I'll show you."

In that moment, as Alex took his hand, Gene realised that he had no idea what was in store for him now. However, he trusted Alex implicitly to lead him off into the unknown and he would be content, safe and happy. He knew he would. He was finally with her.

Holding hands, Gene and Alex walked off in the dusky light of the evening. Although both their lives had been cruelly cut short, they were finally together again and knew this was the start of something new. They both felt a flutter of anticipation at the prospect of spending the rest of eternity together; neither of them really knowing what was going to happen next but both knowing they would stick it out together, because that's what you do when you trust someone; that's what you do when you're in love with someone.

* * *

**Well, you know me! I can never split those two up for too long!**

**NB: The reason Alex removed her jacket/shoes/socks/rolled up her sleeves is down to something called paradoxical undressing. This normally occurs in moderate to severe hypothermia as the person becomes confused, disorientated and combative and believe they are too hot and as a result, begin to remove their clothing to try and cool down which increases the rate of heat loss. The hide-and-die syndrome (AKA terminal burrowing) mentioned happens in the final stages of hypothermia and is where the victim will enter a small, enclosed space, such as under a bed or in or behind a wardrobe. It is often associated with paradoxical undressing. *Phew* If you want to know more, it's all on Wikipedia! :p**

**Thanks so much for reading and please, please pretty please leave me a review! If you do, I'll see what I can do about getting you a ride in the Quattro... :)**

**xxx**


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